


Light in Dark Places

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Series: Magran's Fire [3]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Gen, fire godlike priest of Magran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-29 03:45:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14464302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: She laughs quietly; it sounds almost like the hiss of flames. Ah, poor, utter fool; silly moth, still flying because it failed to noticed its wings turned to cinders long ago.(The Watcher realises something about Durance's relationship with Magran - and with her.)





	Light in Dark Places

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenbach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach/gifts).



> (Written for a prompt from the 'sensory prompts' set on tumblr, thrown at me by serenbach: Trying to pull on clothes with damp skin.)

The river is cold, but that doesn’t pose a difficulty for a fire godlike. She bathes quickly in the pleasantly warm water, then slowly wades ashore, where she left her wet clothes after washing. There is no quicker way of drying the fabric than to put everything back on and let the water steam out.

There is quiet rustle in the bushes nearby, and she whips around, dropping the clothes, not caring for her nakedness. Whoever is foolish enough to try to attack her will never live to remember or tell.

Durance freezes mid-step, noticing her battle-ready stance; but he is also clearly surprised to have walked on her. Gritting her teeth, she quietly promises herself that one day, she will pay the druid back for all the jests. Oh, yes; one more prank, just one more, and she will smell the scent of burning fur. That, she is certain, is something the priest would agree with her on.

She picks up the clothes, without paying him any more attention – after all, when she has her hair loose, falling down to her waist like a mantle of lava, what can he see but just another bit of flame? His crass remarks and eventual sleepless nights are not her problem.

That is when she realises that he is unusually quiet. And it is not like him to pass up a chance for a crude comment.

She looks at him pointedly, tying the drawstrings of her trousers, and that is when he finally turns away, mumbling under his breath – maybe expletives, maybe a begrudging apology. Maybe both. Maybe something else altogether.

He considers her a vessel of their goddess, and treats her accordingly, calling her a whore, just as he does with Magran. Perhaps, in the haze and heat of fire, they blur into one. But strangely, the look in his eyes just before he turned had been reverent.

She laughs quietly; it sounds almost like the hiss of flames. Ah, poor, utter fool; silly moth, still flying because it failed to noticed its wings turned to cinders long ago. Smart enough to know one cannot touch the flame without getting hurt, blind enough to still want it despite having already been burned once. So devoted to his goddess that he fails – _refuses_ – to see he was used and discarded like a broken tool; a grain of gunpowder, always destined to be consumed by fire. He guesses that, deep down he _knows_ , and that is what makes him so defiant; that is why he calls Magran all those disrespectful names even though he worships her.

Still, he follows his goddess; he will follow Magran’s messenger as well. And she will lead him straight to the pyre, to the death he failed to accept at Halgot Citadel. Who knows, maybe this time he will even be grateful. Yes, he will; she will see to that.


End file.
